Love & Ropes
by Oceans in Hand
Summary: We’re not the best at making love, always get caught up in the heat. Link/Allen, oneshot.


**More Link/Allen! Dunno why, especially since I haven't really read anything dgm related for awhile, cause of the hiatus *grumble grumble* Anyway, ****I'm not very experienced with writing smut, so please tell me what you think. Feel free to criticize, it's acutally encouraged.**

**Which means...please review!**

**-Oceans**

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**Love & Ropes**

You strain against the ropes, but you aren't really trying to escape. We like them, we use them so often that you can practically tie them by yourself now.

Oh, but the way those black cords stand out against your white, white skin, the red marks that appear when you sometimes struggle too spiritedly…God. But God's name has no place between us here.

The cords keep the backs of your calves and thighs pressed firmly together. Your knees are bent, and one is on either side of me. Your arms are bound behind your back, your eyes hidden behind a soft black cloth.

My hand holds you tightly, but I've stopped stroking you, and you're whining, moving to try and thrust into my grip.

I smirk; I can't help it. You can't see it, but if you could I'd probably be bitten for it. My hips buck up at an angle, and strike that spot that we long ago discovered inside you. You cry out, and fall forward. Your hair tickles my chest.

"…teasing bastard." You mutter to me, but I can see the smile you're trying to hide.

I let you go and take your face between my hands, and guide you to me, and we kiss lovingly, with real and sincere feeling. Your teeth pinch at my lip, your tongue is somewhere on the roof of my mouth, and as we kiss, I begin to move at a slow, steady pace, penetrating deep. You hum happily, contentedly, working against me and leaning further into the kiss. The noise comes from deep in your chest, your throat, and the sound begs an answering moan from me.

You won't overbalance if I take my hands away, so I do, and grip your hips, lifting and forcing you back, meeting you on the way. You groan loudly, and I can tell by the lines in your face that you're glaring at me through the blindfold. Your muscles tighten around me mercilessly, and suddenly I'm teasing both of us this way.

We're losing it. The thinness about your mouth tells me that you see it too. We're not the best at making love, always get caught up in the heat, in the flesh and sweat and sensation. Perhaps that's why we began using the ropes.

My hands are holding your ass now, rounds of soft, firm skin. I take care of the lifting, you of the plunging. It's going faster, faster faster faster…

Your breath is in my ear, "Link, oh God…"

_I know,_ I whisper, or at least I think I do. It's hot, so hot, so fast, so good, it's spinning, spinning spinning-

I thrust with all the strength in me once. My body seizes up, muscles tensed, stretched and contorted. I'm groaning, you're whining, whimpering moaning, cheek pressed against my ear, teeth sawing at your bottom lip.

And it's over, finished. We both collapse, weak, limp, chests heaving with heavy breath. My fingers don't work very well, but I reach, and pull the knot in the small of your back, and the cords go loose. I feel a grateful lick under my jaw, and you cuddle into me, stretching you legs until your bones pop. You're not very heavy. The blindfold is dropped to the side.

The sweat on our skin cools, and though we haven't felt that bone deep cold since the evacuation of the first headquarters, a chill is setting in. I pull the blanket from the bed, a few feet away, and tug it over us.

We're spent, boneless, falling asleep. You nuzzle your nose into my throat in your last few moments of consciousness, I feel the sweep of air that means you're inhaling me, and the tickle of your fingers playing in the space between my collarbones.

"…love you,"

You sound young. You normally don't.

My hand drags up our bodies, and my fingers weave through your hair, push you slightly harder to me.

"Love you." I breath, sigh, eyes closing, sleeping.


End file.
